


Synchronisation of Our Dreams

by Lil Tiger (XiaoHu)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mystery, Paranormal, Slow Build, academia au, it's really funny I swear, scout au, they have to find cassettes to uncover a mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26728915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiaoHu/pseuds/Lil%20Tiger
Summary: Anonymous cassettes, a cursed lake, a haunted school and a secret society, dreams waiting to be synchronized. What mystery lurks around and under Arkerville, which one of them made Haechan changes ever since the end of summer?And with him, the air around the town shifted too, and Mark realizes he has to do something, but what exactly, when the mystery he's looking for isn't even in the open?Or: NCT Retro Mystery with scout boys Dreamies
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong, Kim Jungwoo/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. A town of Bad Omen

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer  
> \- I rewrote this AGAIN  
> \- i actually made some long ass research about the geography, forest density, native and crow people, scout and school system of the USA/CANADA... please read this  
> \- This is actually a huge project. I'll be posting the webcomic version soon on Webtoon  
> \- this is for NCT, my favorite band. I'd like to make the writing community and the fandom a little brighter by adding my toppings to the cake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark has been thinking about Haechan, the summers they spent together. Out of the seven, this one was different. They've been slowly rotating closer and closer, and now that their fingertip finally touch suddenly, they drift apart.
> 
> On the other side of the town, Park Jisung meets Zhong Chenle, and chaos ensues.
> 
> Renjun has odd dreams about a childhood friend, but he only tell Jeno about a lost box in the forest. They end up safe and sound but only at the expense of Jeno's glasses.

Anonymous cassettes, a cursed lake, a haunted school and a secret society, dreams waiting to be synchronized. What mystery lurks around and under Arkerville, which one of them made Haechan changes ever since the end of summer?

And with him, the air around the town shifted too, and Mark realizes he has to do something, but what exactly, when the mystery he's looking for isn't even in the open? 

Things take a new turn when Jisung and Chenle recruit him and the other boys of Arkerville, then on investigation ensues.

* * *

Our main characters all live in this small yet wholesome town in west Canada, not too far from Vancouver. Situated perfectly in the deep forest between a mountain and a lake, few people habitating the place, yet lots of memories to dream about hang around. Perfect geographically speaking, and more: good weather in autumn and spring, hot in summer and cold in the winter. It’s actually perfect for scout activities, what the town is actually very famous for. It’s not in ruins as most retro mystery series would show you on netflix. Actually, it’s quite well structured and financed. You’ll find everything you need and anything you want. 

If you’ve lived long enough in Arkerville, you’d know Mark Lee. When his bright pink bike flashes furtively by and, as he never forgets to, greets you with a voice so young and welcoming, you won’t help but feel curious enough to look a second time again. He has a red snapback that he never wears. It would just look non coordinated with his red puffer vest that he always dons proudy, it's better this way we can see his high eyebrows.

If you haven’t met him, you'd heard about him from people who did. They always end up talking about him, good things of course. Selected for a special scholarship for gifted children, Mark has a speciality: he’s special, in anything. But what makes him endearingly likable is because he’s always trying a little too hard. What for? No one asks, but it makes everyone happy seeing a young one being a fierce one.

You’d also know Haechan Lee, ineluctably. Always wearing a red snapback that isn’t his and a few plasters on his fingers and knees, while running errands in the school corridor and after class hours, around the streets. You must’ve seen him, or talked to him. Undeniably reliable, but no saint should take him for Gospel. Because you’ll either see him running errands, or either pranking the same people that pinned their faith on him when he's bored.

No one pins anything on Haechan: He’s targeted everyone as victims aiming on the exact right moment. Calculating, a cunning prodigy, you’d say, but then you have yet to see him training for archery. He’s been selected for the Youth Archery Tournaments, a big festivity for a small town like Arkerville.

If you know one, you’d know the other because they’re stuck together like the astro twins. the two young prodigy of the town, grade toppers during the school year, model scouts in the summer. They’re bound to rotate together. 

But something happened this summer. Everyone knows about it, but not what exactly. No one knows that something has shifted around the town. No one knows Haechan hasn’t pulled at his bowstring ever since. No one is aware that a mystery is looming over Arkerville, except for Mark. Or maybe not, and this is where we meet the protagonists of our story. What happens when a team of 7 takes on the duty of finding 7 scattered secret cassettes around the town?

•

It’s somewhere between the midday and the afternoon, where somehow Mark can’t follow the teacher’s lecturing, words falling one after the other, disconnected, that it happens.

Every sound muffled as if underwater, yet unknown words and incoherent sentences from afar come to him, (or just from the long, infinite corridor by the classroom).

Every sound resonating, singing.

Eyelids heavy, and then heavier at every breath. Drunken, dripping with sleep. Body unconscious and mind wandering, Mark's thoughts track come at a stop at some old rusty picture. Hanging on his room’s door, it illustrates one of those epic, hour-long summertime days. Tales of scout boys and bleeding knees, friendship.

It’s tradition. It illustrates his many summers into one, allegorical picture. It’s all in one, forever old, just the same every time.

It’s him, Haechan, Jeno, and Renjun. The _original three_ and _the sidekick_ , all wearing their colors, and, good gold times in the vacation sun, he thinks. But where and when did it turn, not wrong yet, but different?

Even if this town is full of unfortunate events; the drowning boy, the cracking dam, the ominous crows and lost dogs. And too many slipping cars by the forest hill. Even though this  
town is full of bad omen (all over it, hiding in the forest and jumping from under, coming together in a flock of crows), there are the good times he spent in it, hanging on his bedroom door.

The clothes enveloping him suddenly feel aware, and he thinks that it’s because of the school that he has spent memorable time: he had met Renjun and Jeno there. From here to the boys' scout, even if there is the town in between and in under, some things are good.

Even if every year someone drowns, this time, it didn’t happen.

And then just as his thoughts were ending in a hopeful picture, a voice breaks the disordered silence.

“ _It is true…_ ” A voice, familiar and sticky sweet dripped and nasal. It trails, “ _It is true that…_ ”

A ghost, but it doesn't last, disappears like fog from its brain and there’s another sound there, replacing it as if it just killed it. The voice is changed, It shifts from inside his brain between each of his neurons to the school mic over the board. It goes from familiar and warm to cold and unknown.

“ _Message from Saturn._ ”

Mark looks up.

Surprised, confused and aware. He still can’t hear the teacher, but the mature and drowned voice is piercing yet cracking from the mic.

It urgently says:

“ _Don’t listen to blue’s society._ ” A pause. “ _They see you and will make you believe that you need them_ ”

The voice stop and the message end. The teacher is back by the board. Mark is left staring at the school speaker, the professor's voice replacing the furtive cry, now loud and clear against his temple.

And the most awake he’s been since a while.

•

Taking a step forward, Haechan almost falls down because of the uneven concrete. Taking the strap of his backpack into his palms, he looks around. School had just finished, but he took too much time getting out. The space is deserted, Mark must have assumed he didn’t wait for him and went on home.

Head down and hands fiddling on his backpack straps, almost like a lonely child, Haechan hops around the long road before the burned house, and walks down up to the bus stop turn. Many tree branches fly over him and he can’t hear any birds chirping.

He hates walking home alone.

The sun is a little wearier that yesterday, and Haechan think it’s winter shadowing over with the charming disguise of autumn. The summer sun was much more fuller and gave him and his friend the willpower to run across the whole of the town.

  
To run across the town, and color it with their summer memories and laughs. The genesis of their adventure starts with the first summer at camp. It’s him telling jokes at campfire, Jeno putting up with his pranks with a polite smile. And Mark, being the open book he is. Readable and expectable. Yet it’s a slight surprise, when new eagle scout Renjun tells him by the green swamps next summer, that he’s being hard with Mark.

‘He’s a little sensitive at heart’ the Chinese newbie tells. And it’s true, Mark is always doing his best, earning the most pins and compliments, big boy and leader (strong lion), it’s almost as if he doesn't need them and could jump into being their scoutmaster. But Haechan is always making things harder for him.

Then it’s mark who tell him by the end of the summer that follows, a summer they were stuck together like the astro twins. “I almost quit because of you,” he says, and Haechan nods knowingly, _I know_ he says. They grow up each year, a fast race of heights, which imprevisiblity is broken when Jisung joins and with him, then, It’s campfire stories with ghosts and cracking leaves; memorable like each year.

But this time, summer wasn’t something to be remembered. It’s full of guilt and remorse. Haechan wants to bury it in his backyard and under his pillow when the memories come back late at night. He wants to strangle it and make it quiet, just like it is doing to him.

A murder of crow breaks his black thoughts. Haechan’s eyes, surprise and round follow them. Their horrible singing sounds like cunning laughs. Stops by the bus and step into the car, still following the flock of black winged omen through the bus glasses. His hair swings as the bus go on, but he who has been engulfed by mere birds, stays still and thoughtful, almost dysphemistic. Gaze sliding farther and farther, closer to the horizon with them, the crows.

This year, no one died. And it is a bad omen of its own.

•

At some point after class, some ten minutes into baseball training, Mark assumed today wasn’t his best day. Concentration lost between the lockers and the training ground, he can’t seem to find his reflexes, putting his mind to full concentration just to merely blink.

“Ever seen a roadkill?” A voice, Lucas’, brings him to reality. He slowly turns to the voice, so aware of his own heavy eyes, threatening to fall down. “That’s exactly what you look like now.” So heavy, bulk weight, but his eyes still roll at the tower peering over him. He silently sighs. Lucas observes him for a brief second before starting again. “Dude you should really have a day off, for once,” snickers behind him again. Nonetheless, his tone is a little serious, and concerned, maybe.

  
It’s the break, so Mark gave himself the luxury of sitting on the bench that’s flown over with the dot cut tree shadow.

This time, sliding down next to him, Lucas' voice is deeper and surprisingly softer, less annoying. “What’s wrong?”

Mark sighs, his head hurts. He turns the sole of his sneakers on the concrete, cracking the dirt and stray rocks against it. The sound somehow resembles how he feels at the moment.

“Lucas, tell me sincerely.” He begins, and silence falls as Lucas is eager to listen. Hesitates. But he already engaged the conversation so he can’t backtrack now.

“You know, the rumors about the drownings in _kalaaxtá lake_?”

Mark doesn't dare glance at his friend. He knows he other is staring at him, so he just looks at the front, the view of the baseball field drowning in the sun.

“What drownings?” Mark realize that aside from sports, Lucas doesn’t pay attention to anything else, much less to rumors. The fellow senior is obsessed with _St_ _Arker higher education system_ , and he absolutely wants to get in through a sports scholarship.

“Well, the lake by the west hills.” Says, then wait for a sign from Lucas confirming that he's following. “You remember last year, when that old man’s car slipped into it.”

“Yeah, everyone talked about it. The whole city, how wouldn’t I know?” _Because you never pay attention to rumors._

“Well, there's a rumor that every year someone dies by drowning in the lake.”

Silence comes back. “So what about it dude?”

“Well, the year before that they found clothes. And my neighbor’s aunt’s dog drowned there, too!” Mark pauses, taking a deep breath. “And this year-”

“Dude, what if they found clothes? Did someone drown? It could be some storm or some prank, anything? And the old man was suicidal. They told us that it was a suicide.”

“Yeah…” feeling like he was right, but didn't want to say so.

“And the poor dog, we can’t save all drowning dogs can we?” Lucas’ voice is loud and has a stubborn foundation, he’s sure of what he’s saying. “it’s unfortunate, poor thing man. But tragedies happen.”

When Mark doesn't say anything, he continues, “It’s all about this summer right?”

When Mark’s mouth align into a thin thread, almost ashamed, Lucas sighs: “Look, stop stressing over this summer. It happens. And that doesn’t mean we’re under some curse or the sort. Let’s try and not think about those a headache-inducing rumors. Don’t worry! Be happy man.” slap his shoulder. His confident tone would be comforting, but it fails, barely vibrating through Mark’s ears.

But for the first time, Mark is almost surprised at how soft Lucas' tone is. "Is Haechan alright?" He leans onto the bench, hand deep into his pockets. "I know you're like this because of him."

Mark will not deny it. He bites into his lips. "I haven't seen him in a while."

There is a silence, and Mark wonders if Lucas is surprised. Will he be scolded? He can't know, but suddenly, Lucas relapse into his previous mood, slapping his arm.“Mark, you are way more intelligent than that okay?” Lucas looks at Mark, who’s busy processing his scattered thoughts, and being swayed left side right by the stronger arm around him. “at least more than me!” then just like this, the conversation finds an end.

Mark feels unfulfilled. Maybe he spilled his thoughts to the wrong person. Lucas is never the type to believe in rumors, curse, and paranormal stories. Everything that has a fragile or ephemeral foundation (rumors and legend, etc) is overlooked by the baseball ace. It’s not that he’s a scientist, he thinks without deviance and sees things as they are. He has a simple way to think and live.

Mark wanted to think that his friend was right, but the problem he was facing had something more to it. Mark was restless, as if he was the only hearing the silence before the trumpet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify: There are two school in Arkerville. Jisung and Chenle (and Yangyang) who are undeniable geniuses are in St. Arker School, a prestigious private educational system, situated in the outskirts of the town. The other is a public one, and thats where Mark, Lucas, Renjun, Jeno, Haechan are. (And others to be revealed). Hyung line and other have graduated and will come in to help the boys uncover the confusing mystery they've been handed!

“Hey.” Haechan voice comes in as soon as the grinching of the front door stops. 

“Can I stay over?”

Haechan is standing in his front porch, a small bag clutched in his right hand, probably sheltering some spare clothes. His knees are ornamented with new bandages and fresh cuts. Lips swollen and cut, eyes hidden under the shadow of his hair. 

  
  


Mark, behind the door regretted the mere second of surprise it took him to say: “Come in,”

“Did you get in another fight,” He asks as he takes the bags to put them aside. Maybe he should have waited for him after classes.

“Yeah.” The younger replies a little too soon. And a stray balloon of doubt wouldn’t have soared up in marks mind if he hadn't catched his bloody finger trembling behind his shorts, unable to hide it even as they riled it up in a tight grasp. Still, he doesn’t say anything and push at the tanned boy’s shoulder after closing the toilet lid.

Haechan obeys and press his back against the cold tile only reacting when he sees Mark pulling out a bottle of alcool.

“Tell me when it stings,” 

“If you tell me who it was and what is was about.”

Haechan hesitates a little. For the first time since he came, looks into Mark’s eyes. The older realizes there's a bruise all the way up to his temple, dry blood hiding into his scalp. 

“You don’t have to always concern yourself with me.” He whispers into the space between them as a reply as he lets Mark tilt his face with a soft touch on his jaw. His eyes stares into Mark’s that are too busy looking for bruises on his cheeks. “ I’m not 12 anymore.” 

Mark finally looks into him as he cleared away all of the hair strands encumbering his frame. Under the dim light, he shift away to observe the naked skin all over for any bruise. Haechan shys a little, not able to bear any further Mark’s protective stare, that’s more of a heavy scanning.

“Okay,” comes the short, easy agreement of a reply.

Haechan doesn't question it, lets his body relax under the knowing manipulation of his older friend. Under the cold tips of fingers playing a careful symphony on his even colder skin, Haechan completely gives him his trust as he shuffles his eyes closed. 

Then the crying sting of alcohol bites his lips and he almost jumps out of his seat.

“I told you to tell me!” he cries accusingly, hands flying to his the burning slit on his lower lips.

“You told me not to concern myself with you.” Mark send with a smirk, unapologetic, before going on with his job. His eyes already locked on a new bruise he finds sitting on Haechan's other cheekbone, bright red. Not taking any protest forces Haechan's face to turn, but the younger sways back, hiding his stare, enveloping Mark's hand with his, clutching it to stop advancing.

“You're too mean.” almost whines, but Mark softens at their skin touching. “Can’t we talk about something else?”

Suddenly, Haechan's tone, his hands, his figure, everything is smaller. There, sitting on the toiled lid, shoulder slouched in defeat and his once proud eyes hiding under the shadow of his bangs in shame, Mark realize it's one of the rare time he's reminded that Haechan's not only a year younger, 

“No need to talk.” Mark complies with a sigh and sits on his knees between the younger’s knees. “After I tend to your knees, we’ll do something even more interesting.”

After a second of thought, Haechan has the ghost of a smile on his lips. “oka- OW! Mark lee I told you to, it stings!"

“I can’t hurt more than when you got it!” the older says, the last words slightly distorted under the pinching of both cheeks.

“It does!” Haechan smiles, this time no shadow hiding at the edges. 

“Stop pinching my cheeks!”

“Not until you say sor- OW!”

* * *

Even if the stay over was sudden, and Haechan’s urgent voice, clear against the wood of his front door raised questions in Mark's mind, he didn’t say anything. And maybe that is why Haechan came to him, because he seems to always know when not to ask questions. Because he never asks questions, and welcome him in the feverish contest for first place in one of the many undiscussed games they battle ever since they put eyes on each other, Nct Kart.

“How does it feels to be a loser at this age, Mark?”

“I’m one year older than you,”

“One year! How many things can happen in one year! A child can be born, you can grow your hair and look like Taeyong hyung, you could finish one of mister Kim's assignment on quantum mechanics, you could swim to china and touch the Great Wall and come back, you can also break a leg and heal and break it aga-”

“I could graduate and get away from your crazy antics.”

“Hey, now, that’s not funny.” 

The subject is a little sour to Haechan. He's best friends with an upperclassmen that's soon graduating, but he's still got his age fellows Jeno, Jaemin, and whom he calls his right wing man, Renjun. It's also true that they'll still meet after that, but what Haechan will miss is the time spent laughing with Mark and the others. Not only just him. There is a picture that always hangs on the back of Mark’s room’s door. It's been there so long that it blended into the decor, almost invisible. Still, it perfectly sums up the turmoil of this turning point of a year. It's them: Renjun, Haechan, Jeno, Jaemin and Mark, scout uniforms and bright scarf, knee high socks and hiking shoes laced up. Bright, bright smiles and v signs.

“One years a long time yet it flies in a blink. So does 8 years.”

“8 years,” Mark repeats, not even eyeing Haechan who’s smiling at the four scout boys staring back in the pinned picture.

“My knees are bruised here. Wasn’t that time where I saved you from that bully?”

"Your knees are always bruised, and they still are. And yeah, you played savior and stood up against that Eagle Scout. And now you are the bully,” Mark confirms. He smiles, nostalgic as if he’s an old man looking at the past far behind. He turns to look into Haechan’s eyes and finds his best friend. Those knee bruises are like a vow of friendship, or maybe more of a turning point. Mark used to hate Haechan, in fact, he used to hate troublemakers. Mostly because he was bad with trouble, even if he was perfect at everything.

Bullying was also one of those rare thing young and shy Mark couldn't handle. Always scared it would escalate, so when it did one camp night between a tree and a taller but younger scout, Mark was really scared. That's when Haechan, who always seem to be around Mark no matter what time of the day it was (always ready to jump in and annoy him), came right in jumping into action. It was more of a territory fight between two troubmakers than that of save the princess from the dragon, and it seemed like they shared a previous history of hatred. A fight breaks in the middle of the night just as the camp fire is being put out. One scout ends up with bruised knees, the other with burns scars. Mark realized Haechan isn't bad, but just shows his fondness in different ways. He also decided he doesn't hate all types of troublemakers.

The memory fills up his chest. "Seems like I can't get enough of them."

"Seems like you can't get enough of me." Haechan smiles proudly at him, shift his weight on the other leg, hands in his shorts pockets. Mark hates that dainty smile that seems so frail now that his friend is growing out his features into refined lines. It's odd, to look at his profile and see someone you know so well yet someone a little newer everyday. Mark can't help but wonder if Haechan feels odd like this when he sees him, too. But he doesn't ask, only stare back into his best friend’s eyes that are fixed on his uniform over the picture, dripping with childish jealousy. “You already had that much badges?”

Mark’s curiosity wakes. He joins Haechan by the back of his door. “Oh yeah,” he exclaims, squinting his eyes on the small space of younger mark's chest. “I'm surprised, too”

“Huh. Who does that anyway? You came in and bam! Got all those merit badges, became a star scout.”

“You could have, too, if you weren’t pranking me all the time.”

Haechan shines a small laugh, earthy, his eyes creasing in two shy moons. “Yeah, but your reactions were too fun. Are. Anyways, now you only need the third courage badge to become an eagle scout.”

There's a pause, it’s Mark realizing Haechan’s words. “Right,” he says, eyebrows upwards, hinting his surprise. He'll have to face one of his fears to obtain the last badge of his carrier as a scout. After that, Lucas' won't mock him for 'playing with kiddos' anymore. “Wow, times goes fast, man."

Haechan looks at him eagerly, curious and as equally excited for his upgrade. “Have you thought about the task? What was it?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking. Summer just passed, and Mark has plenty of time (his whole last high school year) to think about the final mission he has to complete to earn his last ever badge. But Haechan still follows the flow of their conversation, ignoring the event that had befallen upon them the previous summer that's barely gone.

And Mark doesn't say anything about it. He complies and thinks about it, too. “Well, I have to 'conquer' a fear,” he starts, eyes flying all over his room in contemplation, “I could say you, but I’ve already overcame that,” Haechan swats him. “What about you? We could do it together, you'll get your first courage badge.”

“Well, that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah.”

“What I'm scared of? Huh?” Mark nods to him. Already feeling the silence sleeping in, Haechan’s voice a little hint of lazy, cracking like firewood. He glances rapidly at the clock, it’s not late: 6pm and the sky outside mirrors the number, fresh darkness just threatening to fall. Maybe he had a long day.

“I'm scared of…” Mark waits for a response; But all he sees, is Haechan’s expression setting into neutrality then getting shaded with a deeper undertone, and the lingering light by the window is still flickering broken morse code.

All he waited for was a response, maybe a joke along the line of ‘im scared of your cooking', or a quirky, stupid thing they both know he's not scared of. Anything, but something.

“Haechan?” He calls, but the other just turns his head opposite. Sensing the shift in the younger's mood, Mark leans closer but stop his hands mid air when he hears a periodical whispering from him, but nothing is comprehensible enough to be heard. "Haechan", calls a tone lower, and the question that resonated at the doorway comes back to Mark. “What’s wrong?”

The outside light is becoming too obvious, a little annoying too, this flickering when he’s trying to concentrate on his friend. It’s not random, but flickering in even intervals now, like someone counting slowly.

“I’m scared,” Haechan says, voice low, simply trembling. He’s just turned opposite, but his voice seems so far away to Mark, who looks for more to the answer as he grabs on his shoulder, but Haechan doesn't open any more. Between the silence and his hopeless look for answers, his eyes trail around to find Haechan’s hand, trembling against his riled up short just like they were at the porch.

Maybe after what happened this summer, this wasn’t the best question to ask, he realizes.

“I'm…” he says, lips parting slowly. The periodical light is slightly flickering, flashing on his skin as if he wore his heartbeat on his face. It’s getting faster. “I'm scared of…”

Then three things happen simultaneously. First, it’s Haechan’s phone buzzing with three messages. Then it’s the flickering light transforming into a burst of light as if exploding. Then it’s Haechan harshly turning his head towards the window, almost jumping, as if someone whispered the unnamed into his ear.

“What’s that,” the points at a far space behind the glass, face frozen, eyes horrified. The evening horizon stares back, but when Mark squint his eyes, he sees it too.


	3. Chapter 3

Outskirts of Arkerville. A while after 10 in the morning. St Arker School, the principal's office. An old monastery turned private high school. Many intelligent pupils from Arkerville graduated from, most notable one being Johnny and five others we will meet later. But since then, there hasn't been a wave of such talented bunch. So when this particular application comes in, an interesting talk is sparked at the otherwise monotone evening of the busy admission bureau.

“For you to have taken personal care of this student, he sure must be made of gold.”

A soft laugh disturbs the dust hanging in the room. “And I must add that it is not every day that I accept a student mid year...” the voice agrees. It is 1/4 into the school year, but still too late for enrolling on a whim.

“But it is also not every day that a child prodigy changes mind.” He adds, sliding his feet towards the lit up space in front of the window, carefully ticking against the wood. Hands hugging each other, behind his back, a pondering posture. It is, indeed, not everyday that world famous prodigy choose the most prestigious school over the comfort of home schooling.

The school’s lifelong principal's eyes fall on the court, it’s burning with autumn tree leaves.

“Zhong Chenle will be a good asset to this school.” his rusty voice breaks into this equally old room, a smile tugging at his beard, the window light up the whole room but his features. His eyes seems to be engulfed in past memories. They reflect a languorous tone. A mystery he had always been.

“Are you sure about it?Most of the time now, these so called geniuses a media made.”

The old man shakes his head, a smile still there, features hiding under the shadow against the autumn light. He turns his chair to face his wooden desk, eyes landing on the picture by the world Map. His wrinkled hand to the same, with equally as much love.

“So much confidence and innocence in this child. I see it.” his small chuckle disturb the dust in the room, again. Eyes lingering on the memory printed paper, the old man engulf the old room again into a monotone and archeological melody. “I've already seen it, before the building fire.”

“He’s going to bring greatness into this school.” The old man mimics the school building, old, and fall back into distant memories. “Just make sure to sit him next to our pride. We haven had any interesting graduating class since three years."

"About that, I have a proposition."

"I'm listening."

"I've heard the high school in Arkerville has quite a few young talent."

•

“Is it true that Arkeville is cursed?”

Is the first thing that Jisung hears from the new student. Well, actually, not quite, but it’s along those confident, childish, unbelievable and bold lines:

“You look old.”

The whisper is enough to stop his pencil from writing. Jisung is not even facing him. He makes a face between confusion and an interrogation mark at his desk and turns towards the voice. The new student Zhong Chenle, as his tag says on his practically new and sleekuniform, is staring at him, perched on his right forearm.

_Oh. He's talking to me._

Jisung's thoughts almost sound as if they’re complaining

“Actually, I’m probably younger than you.” he snaps back and then adds “you know” to, maybe, like seem a little friendlier and add an inviting tone to it. It’s been a while someone bothered to converse with his shy self.

“Really? And I skipped a grade, back in China.”

The unimpressed laugh maybe slipped through Jisung's mouth.

“I skipped two. So I’m younger.” states back a final, undeniable winner shot.

They glare at each other. Really, Jisung is trying to. But that competition doesn’t last long. But what follow is, actualy what makes Jisung fall out of his bore circle of every day, and his chair, too:

“So about the cursed lake.”

The conversation seems out of the ordinary. And the mention caught him off guard, like the neighbor dog when he unknowingly passes through the front porch every, single, morning.

“The _what_?” He makes sure to scoop down whisper. Eyeing the surroundings. They’re almost talking secret by now.

Chenle comes closer as if he’s asking something dangerous, but if it really was so his eyes wouldn’t be shining like this.

“Is it true that Arkerville is cursed?” A pause. Jisung blinks twice. “I found an old cassette in one of the _many_ libraries of my grandfather.” The boy continues. “He was a researcher for the NCTIA” When it stops talking, his mouth is shaped proudly. His eyes, determined and knowing but not mature at all.

“This schoolmate is nuts,” Jisung says to himself as he turns back to his desk. But the newbie still finds himself concerned.

“Am not!” He hisses, then lowers his head after glancing at the teacher who’s unaware of his small outburst. “I can prove it to you..!” he tries, quieter this time.

“Yea.” Jisung dismisses.

He’s heard of severe bullying case in St Arker but, isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Is he falling victim to a totally new turn of roles? Is he going to stare in the next week school newspaper headline ‘Arker genius bullied by newbie’? No one bothered him because he was the principle’s golden trophy, but he knew his time was going to come.

And indeed, the new student, Zhong Chenle, doesn’t leave him alone. After class, He’s in front of him like a bodyguard, blocking his way to the corridor, a strong expression on his face.

“Will you believe me if I bring the cassette to you tomorrow?” He says squinting his eyes at Jisung, who assumes he's trying to frown in an attempt to look mature, believable, serious, something along those lines.

But Jisung can't blindly believe a lunatic like that. There are many reasons Jisung would classify all this as bizarre. Who is Zhong Chenle? Why did he come to him out of all the other students? Why does he like his cassette so much? Where did he come from, and what does he want with the mysteries that lurks in Arkerville? All those questions are a blood red sign that he should stay away, very far away.

But Jisung still nods. Maybe that's the only he'll be left alone, for now. He assures himself his choice was the most logical.

•

The day before, after being confiscated their notebooks because they were having a competition on who can write the most digits of pi by memory, Jisung settled that Chenle was not dumb enough to be lying. Maybe he was cunning enough, but that was to determine, so he told the older to bring that mysterious cassette to school.

It’s Friday morning, the first period. Chenle, his seatmate as fate had wanted, is reaching to Jisung, they hadn’t any time to speak before class. “I tried to call you last night,” He whispers on, eyes aware and fixed on the teacher’s back “but I couldn't.”

Jisung frowns, eyes trailing between Chenle and the teacher like a ping pong ball, “You don’t have my number?”

“That’s why I said I couldn’t contact you.”

All Jisung has to give is that odd face where he squints his eyes and frowns as he slightly inflate his cheek. It means he doesn’t know what to say. But Chenle hangs on the thread of their dangerous, mid class conversation.

“I got the cassette.” He says proudly, then continues when asked for a confirmation, “but it’s old, I don’t think we can find a matchable player.”

Jisung is suddenly more attracted to the exchange, willing to sacrifice the ongoing lesson. Chenle is new, and he doesn’t know what the school shelters in it’s old, old sloping roof.

“I’ll show you the library,” He says when chenle tease the mysterious cassete from under his table, hiding behind his uniform jacket. He smirks at the mere sight, recognizing the model and the year.

“We’ll find something.”

•

Chenle breaths out, and forces his wrist out of the huge grip of Jisung’s huge hands. Classes have long finished and they both run down a few lots of stairs, a dozen corridors, half the school, and three different libraries. But this one is of Jisung’s choice, and according to the repeated whisper of the akwardly taller boy, it’s closing time soon and they have to hurry up.

“Is it still open?” the old woman already takes a _year_ observing them by stumbling the glasses down her nose and centuries ticking her tongue, adding on to the long process of replying.

Jisung doesn’t wait for it to come and Chenle thanks him mentally.

“Can we use the projector's room?” he says as he points to the back of the library, heels pushing his weight up, down and up into an impatient dance.

Processing the question, confirming it, searching through a file, buffering, processing the answer. Chenle taps impatiently his oxfords on the wooden floor as the mildly old woman have yet to reply.

She finaly clicks. “Go on, But be quick. I’m turning the lights off in fifteen minutes.” She looks back to her file, flips through a page, scan some writing with her eyes and index finger simultaneously.

Chenle doesn't know what they’re waiting for, but then it comes: “The key’s hidden on the third shelf of the zed aisle.”

They tremble towards the place, running on their feet at first as Chenle bolts behind Jisung who bolts towards where they are supposed to go, fast like thunder. The room is dark, and when Jisung switches the lights on, there’s a vast choice of old and new _electricities_ that reveals themselves from under the shadow, all arranged too cleanly as presented in an auction sale. _Electricities_. Is that even a word?

“That’s like a dumpster for electricities. But, more organized.” Chenle can't help but fire an unhelpful remark, under this mild state of amazement. Eyes hovering around the full room, and Jisung already found what they were looking for.

“Hurry, give me the cassette,” he wiggles his finger, demanding as he fibbles and crack an old junk type cassette player. “We don’t have time, hurry, hurry.” adds half a whisper.

“VP-9000P,” the old, half disappeared letter on the player reads to Chenle. It’s old, and the plastic is grainy and old and an old-grainy yellow against his fingertips.

Jisung swats his hands away. “The cassette, will you.” Chenle obeys, But with a frown coupled with a pout and then watch curiously Jisung's hand fiddling the antiquity into the player.

Finaly when they both stop moving, letting their breath be heard again in the silence of this small room, Chenle and Jisung know it started when a loud engine sound resembling that of cars comes out, muffled and distant.

“This is creepy,” Jisung steps closer to the door, security measures he tells himself, after directing the projector towards the screen. The old machine ticks, explodes a little then starts projecting.

Chenle is immersed, but it's only moments until he's fascinated.

•

Jisung never really liked scary things. In other words, he doesn't like anything that is close to giving him _the goosebumps_. It can be a video, it can be a cassette, it can be a new student. And bugs? What about bees, do bees scare him? Depends on the context, really.

Anyways, if you know Jisung, you know that he gets startled really easily. And if you know that, and about what they are doing, well, then we all know, Jisung shouldn’t be doing it.

Despite all that, and the fact that his fellow scout Hyungs like to startle him there and then for the laughs and just for comically intensifying his misery, he’s here, doing what he shouldn’t just because this new student somehow convinced him to. Well, he’s the one who brought themselves here, but after what happened this summer, he couldn’t really help himself.

The only thing he admits to being scared of are cockroaches. And damn himself for letting that information slip out from his mouth onto Haechan’s ear, then transmitted by telepathy to Jeno’s nonexistent brain. Cockroaches, that's the only thing that’ll make him squeal like an instinct type of animal (and drop his expensive brand new phone on the floor, only to step out of surprise on it and shatter the screen that just surprisingly survived the fall).

So he does feel the hair on his back of his neck tingling him with a distinct uneasiness when the old video starts, with occasional bugs, glitches and processing sounds. All those Bugs are making the whole experience a little creepy. The black screen is profound, with the occasional flying buzzing dots that always appear only in old propaganda videos the history teacher showed them recently since the chapter they’re working on is about dictatorships.

When a clear voice resonates robotically, Jisung jumps a little. He looks around to find no one, then at the other boy who’s just squinting his eyes at the projection. So Jisung tries to concentrate, too. The video says something along the lines of: 

“This video is reserved for the seething purpose of Bees company Inc. Any person or group of people not affiliated with said party is not invited to watch further. ”

Bees?

Jisung turns to look at Chenle, who mirrors. They exchange somewhat confused looks, did they play the wrong cassette? But before they can discuss anything, the metallic voice cuts back in, screeching through both their heads.

“ This video has no purpose to you, it won’t bring anything good to you. ”

Jisung freezes at his. The tone changed completely, to a slightly deeper, personal tone. Hesitation starts to creep in, and Jisung starts to doubt his decision. The video then falls into a short void, as if on cue to let them the time to acknowledge the words and back out if they should.

  
Jisung has always had a seventh sense of sensing danger, but Chenle seemingly doesn’t and keeps on watching with much determination. Inspired, Jisung tries, with equally as much decisiveness, “Hey, I don’t think it’s a good-”

“Listen!” He whisper-yells at him, briefly and barely eyeing him only to look back at that damned screen. It doesn't show anything, but the table is vibrating under a periodical beeping sound that, as Jisung’s head follows, is coming out of the speakers. “That's morse code” Chenle adds as a remark. Jisung is in disbelief, of course he knows what morse code sounds like, but, _What?_

“What?”

“Not a word,” Chenle says as he runs to his expensive looking real leather backpack to bring out an equally if not much more expensive fountain pen. He feverly types down the singing tune of dots on the paper.

Jisung turns in disbelief to the blinking projection as he sees the change of colour reflected on Chenle. It’s showing pictures of the west side lake, otherwise joyous place but only looking morbid in black and white pixels. 

When it freezes, only then the feverish beeping sound does stop, and Chenle forgets his sliding pencil to look up at the screen. The silence brings attention to the almost exploding engine of the projetor, crying as if pushing harder to turn the cassette. Silence, eerie, the darkness around them is still. It’s as if something is going to happen.

A gulp slides its way down Jisung’s throat.

“We don’t have time Chenle, let’s get out.” He knows he’s making up excuses, he didn’t even check his watch.

“Wait wait wait! Just a second!” Chenle says, and the video restarts much to Jisung’s misery.

But Jisung’s not persuaded. “I’m gonna turn off the power!”

“No--” 

Jisung turns to Chenle when he hears the whine cut to an abrupt stop. Chenle’s jaw had fallen down in an agape expression, but not at Jisung. Upon following the other’s eyes, he gasps, and realizes,

_this isn’t something we’re supposed to see._

The huge expanse of screen presents what clearly looks like dead bodies being pulled out of the damp, situated at the other side of the lake. While Jisung has frozen yet again on his heels, Chenle restarts writing with further interest, writing so hard the paper could be melting unter the tip of his pen. Entranced by this eerie beeping, telling whatever mystery, matching with the images.

But for Jisung, this is it. They’re not supposed to see, know, acknowledge, any of that. This is police classified information!

“No!” Chenle cries at him “And shut up, it’s harder to transcribe binary numbers!”

Jisung releases his urgent thoughts slipped out of his mind. “No, I will be closing--, turning off, the lights-uh power, and that’s it! we stop here.”

Chenle turns to glare at him. “Do that. Try me.” he spits out and if Jisung’s heart wasn’t fast and furiously racing towards a heart attack, and eyes trying not to look at whatever horror was being displayed on the screen, he would have gaped at how Chenle was typing, listening to the tape, glaring at him and argumenting with him at the same time. 

“You’re crazy...” is all he manages out of the seated boy, who knocks over his chair when Jisung steps closer to the light switch, and runs to him like a horror movie monster. 

“Jisung, my dear, beautiful friend, just a second! We won’t have that chance ever again!” Chenle cries in dolphin.

“We will, this monday.”

“After the weekend!”

“Yes?” Jisung never was the type to argue. To be honest, it’s his first time.

“And you're gonna snitch it out to the police!”

“i’m--” he starts the protest looking at Chenle, but they both turn to mutually stare at the screen when a high pitched whale-like sound explodes around them. Something trembles and when jisung looks down , it’s the table yielding to the tremor of the flagrant, prolonged siren. The sound wasn’t high, but so deep and deafening that it instantly felt they were underwater.

When the room is lit under changing lights, Jisung looks back up to the flashing screen. Frozen, his breath gets struck in his chest when his eyes meet with those of birds, no people disguised in feathers, rituals, fire, dancing people, blood... And horses, heavily clothed people, and again, dead birds on a headdress.

The images freezes. It’s on an almost deserted plain, lit up in daylight, the wind sweeping the grass to the left. Empty, but only almost, because there’s a lone man standing in the middle with the huge carcass of a bird and decorative feathers making the top of his headdress. His eyes, accusing. Jisung can’t break eye contact.

He moves. Jisung’s breath hitch, and he realizes the room is silent, despite the shocked boys the beeping sound continues under the prolonged wailing sound, and Chenle is not typing anymore. He’s clutching Jisung’s hand.

Suddenly only dark remains. The power is off.

“Jisung!” Chenle cries, unknowingly said boy is wailing his hands around for him, probably punching Chenle accidently before hugging him tight as he finds him.

“What?!”

“Why did you turn of the light!” He says, voice muffled between their superposed blazers.

“Wait, that wasn’t you?”

His voice is clearer, as if he’s looking upward to face his face hidden in the darkness. “Why would I-- Oh” He says, and the grip on his hands is tighter. “We might have a problem then.”

Jisung would ask ‘what problem’ but his voice is stuck, again in his throat when a blinding light starles them, and the most horrible screech in his left ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you may know I've reposted this (for the nth time lol). I've actually added and modified a few things because I know it wasn't good enough. Yet, thank you to those who saw the potential of the previous version. Especially to Ginni and someone else who had commented on the first chap! and to anji_is_bored, jhengchie, taegedy, OrangeChoco, zombieritual, cold_samui, and TullyJ03 as well as 2 guests who left kudos. That means a lot.
> 
> Thank you sm <3 n now present you blue's society, easier to read and like I hope. I'm keen on making this fic work, and I'm still learning as a writer so please enjoy and critique!
> 
> Follow me on twitter, I post my art sometimes! @2zeroboyz See you in the comments :D


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